Angels To Guide Them
by S3R4PH1M
Summary: Jack Crawford and his team are on the trail of a possible cult in a small town in the mid-west. Exhausted and plagued with nightmares, Will Graham continues to pull himself from the darkness that his imagination drives him to in order to find the mass murderers. Dr. Hannibal Lecter continues to subtly work his way into Will's psyche and bring out in him an obsession like no other
1. Chapter 1

**Angels to Guide Them**

Chapter One:

I do not know how long I've been here. I feel the air getting colder as time goes by, but maybe that is just because I feel myself dying slowly. No, it has to be getting colder because I can feel the whistling drafts through the makeshift 5'x10' shack that I've been bound to for what seems like eternity. As the light dims outside, I know the cold darkness will find its way inside and into me. I shiver.

I have been hanging on this rough plank cross maybe three months now. I have lost most sensation in my hands and arms as they are stretched out and bound tight by thin woven ropes. I pump my hands to bring the tingling feeling back to them, the burning sensation brings me back from dark thoughts. My body is attached to a harness for which my loose tunic disguises, and my feet are supported by a thin lip under the vertical post, which is practically useless as I barely have the strength to stand anymore. Below me is a wooden bucket politely disguised under a plethora of fresh cut roses and candles - anything to keep its contents out of site and mind to those who see me.

I am starving and being slowly drained of blood. I would like to think that I cannot choke down one more spoonful of boiled and bland beans and rice, but I do not have an option since it is my only meal. I encourage myself to eat and live another day because sadly I believe I will survive this.

The Holly Cult, lead by Jeremiah and his brother Isaac, keep me like this so I will not fight back among other reasons. In Jeremiah's psychotic mind, I am an angel. They've attached three pairs of wings to me and the harness, and the pale, gaunt look makes them very happy with the whole act. I take the confessions of cult members that they throw in here with me and then repeat what I've heard to Jeremiah or Isaac when we are alone. I'm also meant to "guide" the "sinners" to their afterlife during executions and sacrifices which is macabre and grotesque, but I play along because deep down I feel sorry for them and want their last moments to have some kindness.

I blink a few times and find that maybe hours have passed like a cut scene in my life. I no longer see a ring of light around the door and my eyes focus on the candles flickering around my peripheral vision. It is in these dark times that I fight with myself on the precipice of the edge that I've been brought to over and over again.

Instead of throwing myself into the mouth of madness that resides in this dark abyss, I try to imagine filling the darkness with candles that represent the light of people that I've met. The two candles that are taller and larger than the rest represent all that is important to me right now: my sisters, Ann and Mary. Mary is dead now. The Holly cult hanged her yesterday right in front of me on a tree in the rose garden. The Ascension of Mary.

It was not quick like you see in executions; though, that would have been best for her in the end. Sometimes, I morbidly fantasize her head popping off with the quick jerk of the rope, and I wonder if I am really losing it. The onlooking crowd was throwing out 'Hail Mary' like they were witnessing something special, and I guess they were. They were weak minded religious fanatics, crazies and bums. I guess you do not get to see a live ascension everyday on the compound.

As the angel, I was dangling above her while the sadistic Hollys slowly brought her up by her neck to me. They had tied her hands behind her to keep her from struggling too much, though she still tried. My eyes never left hers, and I hope that brought her some comfort. I did not cry, but smiled down at her as comforting and encouraging as I could convey. I told her that I loved her and that she was going to a better place. I do not think she heard me. By that time, the whites of her eyes were already blood-shot and bulging, her face purple and swollen. I do not think she had rasped a breath for at least a minute or two.

It was warm outside, the sun was high in a cloudless sky, and the light shown off her white tunic and the blood that was now pouring out of her ears, nose, and eyes as blood vessels started to burst. "It's time to go home, Mary. Let's go home", I said to her. And, like that, the struggling ended, her mouth gapped, and I watched her consciousness fade away. I was brought down after I chanted my part of the macabre scene, but Mary was left up there for all to see. I was put back in my shrine, hooked to my tubes, and left with one of the largest gaping holes in my soul.

Sadly, I still cannot weep for the loss of my triplet sister. Maybe that is why I kept a burning candle in my soul for her. I am just not ready to let her go. I have made her a part of me, and I think the thought of her and my sister, Ann, are what keep me alive. I do not know where Mary is now. Likely buried in the rose garden. My only hope is that Ann is out there looking for me and bringing the calvary.

As I shiver again in the dim light of the candles and slip back into unconsciousness, I wish once more that I had not listened to Freddie Lounds and investigated these people. Where ever she is, I hope she's terribly uncomfortable or dead. If she isn't, I hope I survive to make her so.

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**A/N: Thank you for reading. I love the TV show Hannibal. I've been thinking of writing for Fanfiction for a while now, and I'm happy that this show has given me the push to go ahead and write. I'm a fan of the books and movies. Please let me know what you think. I plan on introducing the main characters in the next chapter, so keep an eye open.**


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

It's unseasonably warm for the late autumn weather, but that is likely due to the location. It's early in the afternoon and the flies are driving me to distraction. It smells like hell here and sounds like it too, and I am wondering if that is why this place was chosen for this spectacle. Even now across the corn field in a wooded dividing line of the property, I can hear the hogs screaming with all the commotion and it sets me on edge. I glance over at the rest of the team and sense their unease, but this gives me a little comfort.

I am tired. I did not sleep much last night, and as I run my hands through my wavy dark hair and down my face, I wonder if I remembered to eat. Jack Crawford and I came over together on the flight from D.C. to Tulsa, Oklahoma, and then another couple of hours back up north to Miami, Oklahoma. They pronounce it differently than they do down in Florida, and in my present state, I refuse to adopt to the mid-west way of saying it.

"Here, Will! You look like you could use this." Jack comes up behind me at the crime scene and hands me a convenience store black coffee. He shouts, startling me, "WILL SOMEONE SHUT THOSE STUPID THINGS UP?"

"Thanks!" I say meakly. It's cheap and bitter, and I can feel my eyes dilate as the caffeine hits me, and my tongue burns with the heat. My stomach immediately tightens and then I realize I have not ate, but maybe it is for the best. "They aren't stupid. Hogs are a lot like dogs as far as intelligence."

"My point exactly. " He retorts. "Nothing against your sensitivity to stray dogs, Will, but I'd rather listen to a dog howling than hogs. Then again, my sister-in-law is visiting while I'm away, and I'm about ready to strangle her cocker-poo." We both give an amused huff.

"Who are you ready to strangle, Agent Crawford?" Jack turned, but I did not need to turn to see the tailored form of Doctor Hannibal Lecter sticking out like a rose among thorns in this field. I can imagine him perfectly fine without having to meet his piercing maroon eyes, his neatly combed medium brown hair, and chiseled northern European features. I take another drink of coffee and nod towards the doctor so as not to be rude.

"Doctor Lecter! We didn't see you on the flight over." Jack shook the doctor's hand. "I was just telling Will how I have a family member visiting."

"I upgraded my flight to first class, at my own expense of course. I find economy seating a bit claustrophobic, and I am sure you both did not mind having a seat between you for elbow room." I can see him eyeing me with a pleasat look. I envy how rested he looks. I give him a quick polite smile before I turn away and take a deep breath. It's time to get ready for what I am about to do. I place my coffee on the hood of our rental car and exhale loudly, turning slowly to walk back over to the crime scene.

"Have I missed anything?" Dr. Lecter asks Jack eagerly as they walk behind me, and I try not to think about the eyes of everyone on me. Especially Dr. Lecter since he is my psychiatrist, forced on me to keep me, what? Normal? Normal for me, I guess. When you see what I see, feel what I feel, through the eyes of killers, Dr. Lecter is both a boon and a bane to my existence.

"It's tasteless and an absolute blasphemy, but at least the hogs enjoyed it." Jack's last statement brings me to what the hell I am looking at. I swat another fly off my face as the scene buys all my attention. A crucifixion much like in the bible. Three crosses stood about six feet tall near the tree line, and circling them lay partly eaten and disturbed bodies thanks to the hogs. All the bodies have been burned, but not completely. Charcoal was found in their mouths still warm. Their teeth have all been broken or removed to further complicate identifying them.

This is my second walk through and I believe I've seen all that needs to be seen to get a good mental vision going. I close my eyes and start to take slow cleansing breaths, listening to the rhythm of my heart beat as I imagine myself in the shoes of the one responsible. I open my eyes and my focus is narrowed into a tunnel-like vision. I look towards the highway and make my way up there.

I feel a sense of anticipation and my heart beats faster as I survey the field. "The grass along here is matted down. There are too many bodies to move, so there will have to be at least two or three people to help me carry the corpses down to the site in tarps. You are likely looking for a box truck as it's much easier to carry the crosses with the corpses already on them." I walk down the tree line to the site.

"I've been here before, and have dug out my holes for the crosses in advance. I need this to go smoothly and quickly before the ceremony is to begin." I walk around the posts placing the bodies carefully in a position of supplication, and I feel an inner peace within me. "This is my design" I mumble. I kneel down and...I catch my breath and turn my head sharply away from the body of Abigail Hobbs mounted on the stolen stag head in the field. I am close to panic as I close my eyes and take cleansing breaths again. She is alive, I know that she is not really mounted behind my crouched body. I look up briefly and see Jack and Hannibal looking at me expectantly. I clear my throat and stand facing them, looking nervously over my shoulder. The hallucination is gone. I clear my throat again.

"They were already burned before transportation. He didn't want to cause unnecessary attention with a fire. The coals were placed inside their mouths only after the ceremony ended." I turn back to the three bodies on the crosses. "These people were significant. A thief and a murder most likely. The one in the middle is likely religious or someone who preached faith. Whoever this killer was, he would have gone through the trouble to make the representation as accurate as possible. He took time to collect these three people. The rest are probably homeless, runaways, addicts. People who won't be missed for a time."

"That's strange." Jack noted, furrowing his brow. "What is the significance of placing coals in the mouth of a body you already burned. That wouldn't have enough heat and oxygen to burn for long in their mouths."

"Maybe the killer wished to burn their sins away?" Interjected Hannibal. "A final act of purification of the body and soul." He looked from Jack to me, and I had to look away quickly before he caught my eyes. I was not sure of what he would see in them, or even if he would want to be in my head at the moment. With his words, I could see it plain as day and feel the zealousness of purifying the sinners with my own hands.

"That's possible," I said. "It was also dark; the hot coals provided some light. After the ceremony, placing the coals in the mouths may have the effect of the souls leaving the bodies." I look up and see the tree branches above me.

The trees are nearly devoid of their foliage and the wind rustles the dry branches. I shield my eyes from the sun, and I can see the sky through the branches but not entirely. They are blocking my view of the heavens and it annoys me. Something has to be done about this. "Jack, get me a ladder."

Twenty minutes later I had a ladder stretched out and extended, Doctor Lecter and Jack steadied the legs on the uneven soil as I climbed up. I felt desperate as I reached the lowest bough and pulled at it, testing its strength. "The bark is worn away here. I'm seeing possible rope fibers" I called down. I surveyed the scene below me. "Someone or something was hung here, but where's the body?" The bough was back a little ways, but almost in-line with middle cross. I looked back over the bough with all my focus and attention, and then I saw it. A strand of long dark hair was caught in the rough bark. I pulled it free and I could see the picture clearly now. It is beautiful, perfect; the killer whispers to me in my head as he fades away with the breeze.

"What is it, Will?" Jack called up. I looked down to see him looking up at me quizzically and notice Dr. Lecter's thin smile as he shares in my triumph.

"A strand of hair, possibly female. H-He couldn't see the heavens. He brought an angel to send the souls to their final resting place." Hannibal nods his head and my eyes followed the movement and caught his eyes. I swallowed hard. "Angels to guide them."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

_Tulsa, Oklahoma _

_Office of the Chief Medical Examiner, Eastern Division _

"What are you thinking about?" Beverly Katz asks to her team in the autopsy room they have commandeered temporarily for the investigation.

"Hamburgers and fries." Jimmy Price quips as he opens the abdominal cavity of "Number Seven", the last victim in the earlier crime scene. Brian Zeller smirks.

"I'm surprised it's not Mexican." Brian adds.

"I don't think I could stomach it." Jimmy returns quickly sending a chuckle through Beverly and Brian. "I think it's safe to say that most of these people were kept on a strict diet."

"What have you found?" I say as I clean my glasses and place them back on my nose. It's cool in here but to me it is chilling. I feel sensitive physically because my mind is not taking in my surroundings; it's focusing on my body as it tries to find the rest it demands. I am trying to stay in focus, but I keep thinking about the display of the crime scene, about coffee, and hamburgers and fries. Jimmy pulls out the lower intestines of 'Number 7' and I forget about food.

"Well, we are looking at a diet consisting of rice and beans." Jimmy says as he finishes cutting through the large intestine. "Filling but not a lot of nutritional variety."

"However, our 'Christo' figure has only recently been eating beans and rice." Beverly adds. "I'm seeing some vegetable matter and what looks like bacon and eggs in the lower intestine."

"Well that rules out any one of the Jewish faith." Brian comments.

"What about the lungs?" I say, but I already know that they were all alive before they were burned. Part of me is horrified, but the ghost of the one responsible feels justified. "I believe they were alive before they were burned."

"You're right." Brian is decent enough to look remorseful. "They didn't die quickly."

"Not all of them." Beverly pointed to the open chest of 'Cristo'. "This one was dead before the burning, and that's not all. Are you ready for this?" She looks up at me and I have a sinking feeling. I tell myself 'no', but I answer 'yes'. "He's almost completely ensanguinated and a chunk of his left latissimus dorsi muscle has been removed." She shakes her head. "It's a new one for me."

"This is my blood, this is my body, which is given up for you." My stomach growls making me feel more awkward than I already do. I try to visualize what it would take to drain completely someone of blood, and as I close my eyes, I feel a firm hand on my elbow. I look behind me sharply only to be met with the eager look of Jack Crawford and concern from Doctor Hannibal Lecter.

"You look like hell, Will." _I feel like Hell_. Hannibal removes his hand from my elbow, and I stand a little straighter- not wanting to give away my weakness in the company of lions. "Do you need to take a rest?"

"Come! You can tell me what you think on the way to lunch." Jack motions to the door. "I'll meet you outside after I talk with my forensics team. Meanwhile, I suggest you get whatever is distracting you off your chest with Doctor Lecter before we move on. I want this case over quickly before I have religious outrage and riots out in the streets. The local authorities aren't even trying to take jurisdiction on this one."

"Jack, I don't know if I can do this one. We've just finished the 'Angel Maker' case. I haven't had enough time to get my head back, and I don't think a little sit-in session with Doctor Lecter is going to make it all magically go away." Jack fixes me with stern look. I try not to take it personally because I know he's having a hard time as well at home.

"Eat something. Get some rest. If you don't feel better after talking with Doctor Lecter, I will take you off the case and you can go home."

I nod my head with mixed feelings on what Jack had said as I walk out the door that Doctor Lecter is holding open for me. I think I hear a slight intake of breath as I pass by him, and I glance back with a questioning look. Doctor Lecter follows me out the door and makes no indication that he had done anything. "Did you just smell me again?"

"I just noticed you've given up on your cheap after shave and cologne." He says cooly and gives me one of his light-hearted smiles.

"Yeah, I forgot to pack it in my rush out the door early this morning. You're lucky I remembered my tooth brush."

"And here I thought you were a changed man and took what I said to heart." I smile as we walk down the corridor. He makes me do that sometimes. It gets to me how different our lives are, and yet, he is one of the closest persons to me. He drags me through the fire because I need him too, and then pulls me out when it gets too much.

Thinking of him, makes me think of Alana Bloom and I pull out my phone to see if I've missed her calls. She hasn't called. I feel disappointed though I do not like to admit why. I scroll through my contacts as I rub my dry eyes. I find her number. My finger is over the dial button. All it would take is a simple reflex of the muscles. I can ask her about my house and dogs and how she is handling feeding all them. I think about it, and then I close my phone and quickly deposit it deep in my pocket.

I really need a nap. I really need to eat, but I am absolutely sure Doctor Lecter doesn't eat drive-through meals. I am hoping Jack has a better idea and will not make me decide. "I'm sure Ms. Bloom is looking forward to your return home. No doubt your pets are on the verge of mutiny while she is captaining your ship."

"I doubt it." I smile, thinking of the time she came to my house to tell me Abigail Hobbs awoke. "I have a loyal crew. Besides, I think she may be a cat person."

"Maybe one day you will find out for sure." Lecter smiles at me, and I try not to think about the path less traveled with her. I open the front door and we walk towards the direction of Jack's car.

I see the suspicious man before I see Jack's car. He was wearing a baseball cap with a hooded sweatshirt drawn up, sunglasses, and ragged jeans. He might as well have gone around pointing signs at himself. Then, I noticed him trying to break into Jack's car. "HEY!" I shout and start running towards him. He had to be about 50 yards away from where we were standing and I doubted I would catch him. That is when Doctor Lecter passes me and I realize I have no stamina today. The man rushes into a waiting vehicle and they squeal out of the parking lot.

I stop by Jack's car to survey the damage to the rental and it looks like we got there in time for some chipped paint, and a screw driver and bent coat hanger sticking out of the door frame. I saw files in the seat and what looks like a folded up scrap of paper. "Did you get a license number?" Doctor Lecter asks me. I shake my head.

"Did you?" I ask him, but he exhales and shakes his head. "I'll know it if I see it again. Come on, we need to report this."

"It was very careless of them. I wonder what they were looking for in Agent Crawford's car?" Doctor Lecter muses as I pull out my phone to call him.

"I don't know for sure, but I don't think it was random. Whatever it is, it's important and Jack might want to think about getting a new rental."

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**A/N: Thank you for reading! I'm happy with all the reviews, the favs, and the follows. I'm sorry it takes so long to update, but such is life. Future chapter plans to increase tension between Graham and Crawford as they look for the Cristo Killer, allowing Hannibal to continue his subtle takeover of Will's mind. Ann is introduced as she tries in a desperate attempt to save her sisters. Whatever does happen to the two failed car burglars?**


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

I escort William Graham into his hotel room, and I find the state of it deplorable. Though clean, to their standards no doubt, the place is cheap and unoriginal. I suspect every room here has the same half-hearted watercolor flowers decorating their walls and cheap mundane furniture in the small rental space.

We each take a seat by the window with a table comfortably between us after Will starts a pot of the courtesy coffee. Will has not spoken much since the attempted burglary earlier in the afternoon. I have not told anyone that I know the license plate number, yet. I have a feeling I shall be meeting them again soon, especially if I expect to stay here much longer.

"How are you feeling, Will?" I try to ask in a casual manner, taking in every twitch of his eyes; the way he smiles when he knows the game is afoot. He doesn't look at me directly because he is vulnerable right now, and he knows that I know that. Once again, I focus on breaking down the wall he builds around himself. "Look at me, Will. I need you to know that whatever happens, whatever Jack pushes you into, I will help you come out of it in the end. I know it is difficult, but you can trust me with what goes on in your head. I can almost guarantee I have heard worse."

Will gives a little laugh and raises his eyebrows in surprise. "No doubt you have, Doctor; however, I'm sure I'm not the tamest of your clients either."

"You are correct. You have an unique gift, Will. An ability to see the world in all it's glory and despair through the eyes of those you are made to find as well as your own. Many of my clients fail to see beyond themselves and what the world can do for them. You are far more refreshing. You provide me with an interesting challenge because you are often thinking like someone else. That is why I need to know all about you, Will. To separate you from the ones you are looking through."

"A gift that keeps giving. It would be more like a curse if I didn't feel like I was putting killers behind bars. Recently, I have been finding more of the killers in the hospital or morgue instead of prison - problem I didn't have in the past."

"Does that make a big difference of whom is holding the smoking gun? They are no longer out in the world, and you can move on to being you again."

"I think it bothers Jack's team, and maybe the family of the victims. I think some of them believe that death is too easy for killers and justice is not served to its fullest." Will runs a hand through his hair and looks at the curtain hiding the window. I know he sees a sea of faces judging him. "As for me, my salvation doesn't always come at the end of a case."

"You are still experiencing nightmares, hallucinations, sleepwalking." He closes his eyes and nods his head. "In dark times, many people turn to faith to bring them salvation, to confirm their righteousness in their condemnation, or to bring them divine vengeance. Tell me, have you ever been religious, Will? Do you believe the aggression and guilt you feel could be relieved through prayer?" He laughs at this, and I cannot help but grin. The laugh is so honest in expressing his inner feelings.

"Not really. My father and grandparents used to take me to church, but once I was a teenager, my dad felt it was my decision to make. I never went again and my dad didn't enforce it. On Sundays, I went fishing and he'd join me when he got back. Religion just felt like a way to teach morals and make us feel like we are not alone in the world. I'd rather not rely on some invisible omnipresent figure to take my problems away."

"What if someone is watching you? Someone who guides you in your life that could give you peace of mind in dark times or throw you into the fires for breaking his commandments?"

"I don't need a God to give me peace of mind or frighten me with damnation. I'm living that life already without Him." Will turns around and stares into the room. I can see the sleepless eyes as they roam around looking at nothing in particular. "Do you believe, Doctor?"

I stand and pour the coffee that Will has already forgotten about. I watch the hot vapors roll up and disappear taking pleasure in the simple beauty of their curves. "No, like you, I am not religious. My family grew up that way, but I lost my faith in religion much earlier than you." I walk carefully back over to Will, having filled the Styrofoam cup to the brim. "Science has taught me enough to know the duality of the human nature. That we do not need a God to be good," I hand Will the cup, allowing some of the contents to spill out onto his hand. His hisses and grunts with the sting and I breath in his sharp but fleeting pain, "or a devil to commit acts of evil. My apologies, Will. I am afraid I overfilled the cup. Allow me to help you clean up."

Will looks at me warily as I hand him a cool washcloth. He is conflicted on whether I did that on purpose to prove a point, or if it was an accident because he believes it against my nature. "Recently I've been thinking that I am losing grip on what is good and evil. It has become less black and white and more gray. I had a hallucination about the Angel Maker. In his eyes I was..." He intakes a breath and exhales audibly, looking up to the ceiling, "Had he met me, I think that he would have tried to save me from what I was becoming."

I focus my attention on Will. "What are you becoming, Will?" He looks at me and I see the torment in his eyes. The range of emotions within him are almost palatable and I fight to keep my neutral demeanor. It's moments like this that make me feel like the god and the demon the most.

A light rap comes from the door.

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**A/N: Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed this chapter and I'm sorry it took so long to write. As always, comments and criticisms are appreciated.**


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

"You're coercing a federal agent with blackmail to find your missing persons. That's not very wise, Miss Lounds."

"You're not a federal agent, Mister Graham, and blackmail has such a negative context. I would like you to think about this as a favor I'm doing for you if you help me." I again slide the photo towards him. He looks perturbed. I dig my heels into the carpet as he continues to glare passed me, refusing to even acknowledge what I have put in front of him. His cell phone is in his hands, and I have a feeling he is rolling around the idea of having me escorted from the premises.

"I have information, Mr. Graham. Information that has led private investigators into a case that may interest you and the rest of Agent Crawford's team. I need to find them and what they have found out while here." I try my best to act cool and in control, but I fear the facade is thin. Doctor Hannibal Lecter is standing outside but I have no doubt he can hear everything being said.

"How did you even find me here? Isn't this a job for the local authorities to investigate. Why haven't you gone to them?" He crosses his arms in front of him, and I know that I am losing him. I should have gone to Agent Crawford, but I doubt he would even let me say two words before I was told to leave.

"Don't flatter yourself, Mister Graham. As much as I do enjoy our chats and the good story fodder you've given me in the past, I was actually in the area trying to collect information from my P.I.s. No one will help me find them, and if they do attempt it, they are told to ignore it or won't talk to me anymore."

"Maybe they don't like you", he said coldly. I chuckle softly to myself and give him a tight smile. I should have tried my luck with Agent Crawford.

"Let's not project your own feelings about me into this." I pick up the photo and hold it in front of his face. "Look at them! These ladies are the daughters of a retired military father. They came highly recommended. Why in hell would they risk their reputation and take a client's money and run? Something has happened to them, Mister Graham, and I believe it has something to do with the story I am working on." He takes the picture and glances at it; places it gently back on the table.

William Graham sets his jaw and finally looks me in the eyes and I feel a glint of hope. "Before I do anything, Miss Lounds, what is the subject of your story?"

"I heard a rumor of a religious cult in the area. Does that spark your interest? Maybe, it even sounds a little familiar from what I've heard of recent events." I sit back down and start folding and unfolding my hands in my lap. I would never beg, not openly, but I was really hoping he would put aside his dislike of me and my newsletter to help me or at least my missing persons. His eyes are alert and my hope rises a bit more.

He takes in a deep breath and looks down at the photo, finally unwinding his arms and sitting up in his chair. The three identical faces smile out at him with bright blue almond shaped eyes and medium brown hair done up in practical ponytails. They look too young, but they were older than they appeared. They are standing in front of their place of business as I have been there several times. I had taken the photo right off the office desk when I began having trouble locating them. They look happy and expectant, but I can only imagine what they are like now.

The phone rings and cuts through the heavy silence. Will looks at the caller I.D., looks at me briefly, and answers.

"Hello, Jack!" Will gives nothing away in his expression as he listens to Agent Crawford. I wish I could read him better, but I am distracted as Doctor Lecter opens the door and enters. He gives me a polite smile, but I know the snake behind the mask. I have to tread carefully around him ever since I entered his office and he found my recording of him and Mister Graham in my purse. Between Crawford and Doctor Lecter, they have some very powerful friends, not to forget the loose canon profiler who has likely wished my disappearance a few times over.

"Okay, I'll be right over." He stands abruptly and grabs his coat off the back of the chair. "Miss Lounds, if you would excuse us, I have some business to take care of, and I would rather you not be here when I get back."

"What about me, Mister Graham? Are you going to help me or not? Their lives could be in danger." I am ushered out as I quickly grab my purse.

"Let's go, Miss Lounds. I shall walk you to your vehicle." Doctor Lecter wraps his hand firmly around my left wrist as he places himself between me and Mr. Graham. I would try to resist his hold and get back to Mr. Graham as he closes and locks the door behind him, but Doctor Lecter seems to know what is on my mind and wraps his free hand on my right elbow . "Here you are. Do drive carefully."

"This is exasperating!" I cannot restrain my anger as I start digging in my purse for my keys. "Of all the people, I thought he'd understand."

"I have no doubt that he is considering your proposal; however, I would like to ask you to refrain from publishing anything on Mister Graham if he refuses." I fish my keys from my bag and take a quick glance over the doctor's shoulder as Will Graham drives off. I feel my lips pinching together as I try to hold back all that I wish I could say. I quickly unlock and open the door.

"This isn't over, yet. I have my own research to do, and I have a feeling we will be running into one another again." I get in my car and throw my purse beside me. I shove the key into the ignition and reach over to the door.

"It may be sooner than you think." I hear him say as he closes the door for me and walks away to his own car. Sooner than I think. Is there something he knows that I don't? What does he mean by that?

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Office of the Chief Medical Examiner, Eastern Division  
Tulsa, Oklahoma

I sit across the table from Agent Jack Crawford in a small office we are borrowing from the examiner. He checks his phone a few times and fidgets with his wedding band. I have a feeling he is waiting on a call, or waiting for someone to arrive. We have wasted the small talk already and he did not want to get too far into my situation before his profiler arrives.

He clears his throat, "Can I offer you some more coffee, Miss Rousseau?" He points to my paper cup, still half full and cooling. I did not need any more hindrance to my nerves so I shake my head and give a polite smile.

"Thank you, Agent Crawford, but I am fine with what I have. I just want to thank you again for seeing me. I was not sure if you would call or not. It was a bit of a long shot considering everything that is happening." I wish my voice did not waiver so much and I take a deep breath and hold it a few seconds as the silence settles in again. I exhale and take another drink of coffee to give myself something to do other than staring at the pen cup on the desk.

The door opens as I drain my cup. "Hi, Jack and Dr. Bloom?" I swallow quickly and turn around in my seat confused and am met with William Graham. On seeing me full on, he looks somewhat stunned, and I begin wondering if he knows who I am already or one of my sisters. I start feeling uneasy as he continues to stare.  
"Will, this is Miss Ann Rousseau. Miss Rousseau, this is our star profiler, Mister William Graham that I was telling you about." I hold out my hand to shake his but he gives me a nod and a tight smile before looking away. I lower my hand to clasp the other in front of me.

"Sorry about before, you look similar to someone else." He quickly takes a seat next to me and takes a few more quick glances.

I smile, "Agent Crawford had said that I look like a slightly younger version of her. I'm afraid I just have one of those faces that remind people of others. My sisters and I got that a lot throughout the years. Everyone has their twin, so they say. I just so happen to have more." Will Graham keeps quickly glancing over and I am curious of what he is looking at. I shift uneasily in my seat.

"While we were waiting, I had Miss Rousseau take a look at some of the victims. We have been able to get DNA matches on most of them, except 'Cristos'." Jack added. "Thankfully for her, none of them were her sisters. Some drug addicts, recovering alcoholics, some of the others had lost homes during the housing crash."

"Easy targets for a life of crime." I noticed Mister Graham had a far away look to him. "In dark times, people often turn to faith." He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He exhales before he looks at me. "You were investigating a rumor on a religious cult, Miss Rousseau. I had the unfortunate pleasure of meeting your client, Miss Lounds." He gives a knowing look to Agent Crawford who purses his lips.

Freddie Lounds. So she was here now. I try to keep myself from blaming her for sending us out on a rumor chase, but I hate myself more for not asking the right questions. She paid cash up front, and I allowed myself to be convinced that there may be nothing serious to find. "I don't blame her, really. I blame myself for not asking the right questions and sending my sisters in undercover. I think Miss Lounds was looking for the next Waco Massacre to happen or something."

I get up from my chair and walk over to the office window. I was looking for her car, but it seems she was not in sight. I would not doubt if she did find herself here. I turn back around and see Jack Crawford's dark eyes on me. Agent Graham was still facing Agent Crawford and remained motionless. "Please believe me, I have nothing more to do with Miss Lounds. If...", no, not if, you will find them. "When I have my sisters safe and sound, I will be refunding Miss Lounds. This has gone far beyond her story and it's personal now."

"Do you know where your sisters are?" Jack asks me.

"I don't know where they are now, but I know where it all began." I sit back in the chair and take a glance at Mister Graham who has the far away look again. "We started in Miami and worked our way around to some of the smaller towns, looking for anything unusual. The plan was simply to pinpoint the location of the rumor, and then we were to confirm whether or not it was a cult by getting on the inside.

"We got a hit just outside Commerce. That's when Christine, my youngest sister, suggested we look into 'Soul's Harbor', a local food kitchen, halfway house, and charity. It was once a church, but according to the locals, it hasn't operated as one for many years. It's run by volunteers and a priest comes in on weekends from one other parish to provide mass and spiritual guidance.

"I was to set up headquarters at a hotel; Mary and Christine went in as new residences looking to volunteer and get established in the community. They went in early, then they stayed late. One night, they didn't come back to the hotel. I got a jumbled text message from Mary that she couldn't find Christine. Then I got, 'taken', 'run', and then nothing. I packed what I could and left the hotel through the back. I saw your 'thief' and 'murderer' enter the hotel while I was collecting myself in my car. I never saw them afterwards.

"The cops tell me they are looking into it, but they're not. I can't account for all the local authorities, but I'm sure that the ones that matter are being paid to look away. I've been run out of town, and the more fuss I make, the less I feel safe. I made a bold move to contact Agent Crawford." I felt exhausted. Like saying everything out loud made the weight of my situation heavier. I do not want to run anymore. I just hope Agent Crawford can persuade Mister Graham to help me.  
"Will, I want you to be on the case." Jack points his large forefinger at Will who snaps out of his daydream. "I want you go undercover and find out where they are taking these people."

"There has to be a better way." Will looks almost terrified. He angles himself towards me. "You've said you are being watched and that the authorities may be in on it. Whoever they are will have seen me walking in here, seen me at the crime scene earlier."

I put on my best game face, "It's a risk, Mister Graham, but ever since I've been around, they've become more careful. I cannot guarantee that someone will not recognize you, but I know that I'm not being followed all the time. Especially not when I run around in the big city for a time. That's why I know its a local operation."  
Jack stands up and looms over his desk at William Graham. "Don't worry, Will, I'm not sending you in alone." He walks around the desk and sits on the edge, not taking his eyes off Mister Graham. "You'll be wearing video and audio on you so we can see and hear everything that is going on. I'll get you out if things get hot." He finishes with his arms crossed over his chest, a barrier that Mister Graham will have a hard time getting pass I've seen this move before from my father. I am wondering if Will feels the same way.

"I'm not going to say you're crazy, Jack, but I don't think the best tactic is throwing me in among wolves." Will stands and makes to leave.

"Sit down! Miss Rousseau, please wait outside while Mister Graham and I have a little talk." I collect my belongings and make a bee line out the door. I glance back briefly to see Mister Graham's hands on his hips, ready to take the oral beating, but he is already defeated. Part of me feels awful because he has not realized it yet.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: This chapter contains language and graphic material that is not suitable to everyone. Read with caution.**

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Chapter 6

_Holly Compound, Oklahoma_

_Why am I am laying on the floor?_ I open my eyes and my vision is blurry without my glasses. I feel a dull pain in my back as my hand gropes almost blindly along the rough concrete floor. I graze the frame of my glasses nearby with the micro video transmitter in the rim - my only connection to the outside world. Everything else that is mine has been taken away since I came to the compound. I place my glasses back on my face and push myself up to my hands and knees.

I feel so heavy even though I am only wearing the standard wool button shirt and blue jean uniform. I am missing a few buttons as I take inventory of myself. I taste blood as I moisten my dry lips with my tongue. _Is it mine?_ I remember the chapel and the taste of blood in the wine that I spat out onto the carpet. I remember hearing the sound of a taser after being wrestled to the ground. That is how I got here, but where is here?

The room is dark but for a handful of candles, and I finally notice the smell of roses. I hear gun fire outside in the dark, and I hope it's Jack coming to my rescue. I wonder if I should remain inside or take my chances outside in what I assume to be the building in the rose garden.

"You're a long way from home, Mister Graham." A soft voice whispers in the dark behind me. I shift focus in the direction of where the voice came from. Candles surround a shrine in the middle of the room which seems to be the only thing in here. I blink and try to understand what it is I am looking at. Then I see. In shock, I fall onto my back and suck in my breath. I bump my head against the unfinished log wall behind me.

_Is this real?_ I hear my quick breaths, and I close my eyes to calm the panic that I feel arise. I look back and see the macabre form and face of one that has become recently familiar to me. Strapped up like a ghostly angel, she is too pale in the dancing candle light; too thin as the shadows hide in the recesses of her face. I have no doubt the unearthly image has left an imprint for my future nightmares forever. She smiles at me, small and weak. "You have to go."

There is so much I want to say and ask, but I cannot seem to form sentences at the moment as I stare into her gentle eyes. More gun fire, more shouts, and sirens add to the barrage of noise and shakes me from my trance. "Wh..?"

"It's not your time to die, Will."

I feel her will to survive even though it seems futile, and I quickly close the distance between us. I will not let her or Ann Rousseau down. A few candles and bundles of roses scatter in my wake as I rush to save her. There is no way I am not taking her with me. Every sound I make in the dark seems to echo loudly despite the commotion outside, and I wish I had more light to work with. I fumble around her to find her bindings and find thin tubes connected to syringes piercing the veins behind her knees.

The door behind me bangs open as I pull out the last needle bleeding her. A bony fist crunches into my face as I turn to see who it is. My eyes water uncontrollably, and a sudden gush of blood threatens to choke me. A rough push sends me to the floor.

"Time to go, Seraph." I hear the urgent voice of Jeremiah Holly. I have heard it numerous times in the few days I was in the welcoming room, but it was really a place to brainwash the weak willed. The sound of hymns and gospels with his voice that never ended on a continuous audio loop. Even though I knew what was happening at the time, it did not make my experience any less unnerving.

Jeremiah Holly is an older man, about mid-50's, with most of the color out of his hair already. He was thinning on top, but he did not try to hid it with a comb-over. He was tall and lean, standing about 5'9" and weighing maybe 130 pounds. His tan skin shows that he lives and works out here usually.

I think what disturbs me the most about him, is how genuine he really seems to be. With his soft brown eyes and easy smile, he appears to be the nice guy with a good heart, but I feel the same connection with him as I did out on the hog farm. I mentally shuddered meeting him after coming out of that room, and I felt like Daniel being thrown into the Lion's Den. It was in the chapel that I saw him in his true form-a killer.

Ropes snap quickly with the sound of urgent sawing. With the ceasing of my tears, I see a hunting knife glint quickly in the candlelight along the rough posts. He catches her effortlessly over his shoulder and turns towards me.

I do not even feel the pain, but hear the sharp crack as I manage to cut a jab straight into his face. I feel myself shaking with the rush of adrenaline as he stumbles back with spurt of blood from his cut lips. A few more candles are knocked over and are extinguished, making it more difficult to see him and his weapon. I wonder if the girl was right about it not being my time to die.

He drops her unceremoniously beside him and swings towards me with the knife. I jump back at the motion of his arm, but his swing is wild and I only catch a glimpse of the blade as it passes me. With a murderous rage he charges me and I focus all my attention into not being gutted. We knock over a bucket of foul smelling contents as we both fall to the floor in a desperate struggle over life and death.

I feel the tip connect with me briefly a few times before I renew my efforts for some leverage, but I can't see it. I feel sweat and blood and his hot breath. I hear grunts of effort and the strain in our voices. He is surprisingly strong and I feel my stamina giving out as my adrenaline boost begins to end it's course.

Suddenly, a burning candle jams into Jeremiah's face and he wails loudly before I feel him pulled off me. I feel a drop of hot wax hit me, but I barely register the sting as a new struggle begins in the darkness. I am free of Jeremiah, but any relief leaves me because the only other person in the room is the woman. I hear choking and a wet gurgling sound.

"GRAHAM! GRAHAM!" The unmistakable voice of Jack Crawford shouts out to me and the door to the room crashes open once more with Jack and an armored agent. I hold up my hands.

"Jack!" Two beams from flashlights converge on me and I shield my eyes from the assault on my retinas. My night vision is totally ruined now. "Holly and the girl are still here." The white circles of light roam quickly around the room. I see a fire outside in the garden where a failed attempt at a fertilizer bomb had taken place. A cool breeze enters and wafts over me. It stirs my hair and tingles in the places where it is stuck to brow. I take deep breaths and finally relax, kneeling on the cold floor.

"Don't shoot! Don't shoot!" I hear Jack say. The shrine is blocking my view so I stand up and shuffle carefully around to Jack. "Miss Rousseau, I need you to put the knife down and back away slowly from Mister Holly."

In the circle of light - among the litter of broken candles, the scatter of crushed roses; the stink of excrement, and sweat, and blood - the body of a broken angel huddles half over the still form of Jeremiah Holly. Her face hidden by her long unwashed and matted hair as it snakes down over the man's blood soaked chest. Her delicate left hand grasps the hunting knife, stained with blood. There is a momentary hush as she releases the knife, discarding it on the dead man's chest and leans closer to the dead man. She appears to be embracing him as Jack and I move closer, the other agent keeping an eye on the door behind us.

It's only when we are within arms reach that I realize she is uncontious. I grasp her shoulders firmly and pull her back gently. "Holy Shit! I hear Jack exclaim. I pull her off Holly, and the harsh light reveals that she has chewed halfway through the dead man's neck. I grimace and swallow at an invisible force in my throat as I remember the taste of blood in my own mouth, my stomach turns at the sight of the mauled flesh, and I begin to shake visibly all over.

_I am so screwed._

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**A/N: Thank you again for reading. I hope this chapter got your blood pumping. As always, questions, comments, quips, conundrums, and criticisms are welcome.**


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

_Quantico, Virginia _

"How would you like to go about this, Miss Bloom?" It has been a week since we discovered and dismantled the Holly Cult with the help of Ann Rousseau. A week that has been rife with political strategy and religious bias in the Mid-West. As soon as Christine Rousseau was deemed safe enough to travel by helicopter to our own hospital near Quantico, we moved. We all fear that there are still supporters of the cult that have not been identified and caught yet. A process that may take some weeks more, as Soul's Harbor did not keep very detailed or organized paperwork.

There is a bitter chill to the air today as I watch the gray sky outside my window. The wind picks up, and I have a feeling the weather man will have the rain he predicted earlier this morning. I turn around in my chair as I wait for the response. I rest my elbows on my crowded desk as I face the thoughtful gaze of the woman in front of me. "Miss Bloom?"

"Tactfully, but you usually do what you want anyway, Jack." Alana Bloom gives me a cool look as she sits in the chair in front of me, and I return her coolness with my best 'give-a-damn' face. She wears a silk purple blouse under a tailored dark gray suit jacket that catches the light from the florescent bulbs and the windows in my office. Her thick dark hair is loose and curled like usual, and her makeup is simple and professional. She would likely date more instead of just turning heads if she could learn to relax and stop analyzing everything.

"I want to be careful, which is why I am asking your opinion. I respect you Miss Bloom. You are among the top people whose opinion I value the most. Especially, when it comes to speaking with women and children. I know you think I push too hard, especially with your patient, Miss Hobbs. If you were in my shoes, you would want clearly defined answers for rising questions as well."

Jeremiah Holly, a.k.a. Josiah Hollingshead is no longer a problem, but his members could be. Josiah Hollingshead was tried and found guilty of starting a cult within a high school club that ended being connected in the death of a football player who was known to bully many students. Being the son of a preacher, after the conviction, the Hollingshead family changed their names and left town in shame. Josiah served 30 years in prison and was a model inmate. His charisma, and do-good attitude made him a lot of allies on the inside. A good number of them followed him on the outside.

"So you want to crash a funeral for those clearly defined answers?" The question has been dogging me for the past day and a half, and I could see the threat of incredulity on Alana's face.

"My invitation came in the mail yesterday, so I will not be crashing a funeral. The funeral will be taking place at 5 p.m. followed by a small reception at the Rousseau home. I'm allowed one guests, and as my wife has already declined..." My heart feels heavy and sinks lower in my chest. _My Bella. My dear Bella. Of course she would refuse to go to a funeral while dying of cancer_. I rise from my tall back swivel chair and adjust the photo of Bella and I on the desk before I walk to the front of my desk. "Well, who better to help them through their grief and get me closer to the completion of the case. This isn't just for me, Miss Bloom. I'm not completely without sympathy. I want to make sure that the tragedy of Mary Rousseau doesn't find Ann and Christine as well."

A weighted silence hovers over the room as I remember back to all those victims. Christine Rousseau hasn't spoke to us since the rescue. Ann has been avoiding everyone and screening phone calls since I had her identify Mary's body and help me in identifying some of the others at the compound. Christine would have been better since she was on the inside, but she was still physically recovering at the time. Jeremiah Holly was among them with his brutalized neck. She knew Christine had killed him, but seeing the result was much harder for her to bare. Since then, Ann and Christine have been inseparable. I need help to wedge a gap between the two sisters long enough to get some answers, or at least a promise to spill everything and anything about the case as soon as possible.

"Fine!" Alana Bloom straights herself and shakes her head. "I'll meet you there, but I want to be the first to speak with them at the reception. In no way are you to engage in more than your condolences at the funeral. Give them at least that much. Agreed?" I had to smile at her. Alana and I don't always see eye-to-eye. I know she means well, and she often reminds me to be more level-headed. I wish I had the luxury of setting an even pace with her.

"Of course. I know how to behave myself in funerals, Miss Bloom. I'm not a psychopath who doesn't understand feelings. If it helps, we can wait until the end of the reception to divide and conquer." I give an assuring smile, and I hope it sets her at ease.

"You're incorrigible!" She shakes her head at me, but I can tell she is ready to concede to the proposal.

"I've been called worse." By my wife in fact, and a handful of less imaginative people.

"Who would you like me to talk to first at the reception? Ann or Christine?" I could see the wheels turning as she leans in and takes the files on the Rousseau's off the edge of my desk.

"Ann will be easier for us since she's already familiar speaking with me. She'll be distracted enough with family and friends to have her guard down. You don't need to worry about Christine. I've got that handled." I take Christine's file from her and place it back on the edge of my desk.

"You? What makes you think that Christine will talk to you?"

"She won't be talking to me. Will Graham received an invitation as well. As I already intended to invite you as my guests, I asked Will to invite Doctor Lecter. They will handle Christine Rousseau. Will tells me, he was the last person Christine spoke to that we're aware of. He saved her life as much as she saved his. There is a better chance for the pair of them to get through to her." I rise and walk calmly to the door.

"Why don't I work with Will on Christine and you and Hannibal work with Ann. Christine may be wary of being questioned by two men after being a victim of one. Besides, I'm seeing in Ann's file that they are supporters of the arts and humanities and have traveled much outside the country. That is something to break the ice with for Ann and Hannibal." She rises and stops just beside the door.

"Not a bad idea. I'll have a copy of Christine Rousseau's file made for you before you leave so you can have both. I'll deliver the other copies to Doctor Lecter, and we'll meet before the funeral to divide teams and make a plan. How does that sound?" I smile and open the door for her.

"I guess that is as good as I will get. I will see you tomorrow about 3:45p.m." She exits and I briskly walk over to the intercom on my desk to ask my secretary to make the necessary copies. I hope my plan works.

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**A/N: Sorry it took so long to get the next chapter up. Good news is that there is a second season planned for Hannibal. Yay!**

**So, who will team up with who? Will the plan work? After what happened on the compound, can Will get Christine to talk to him? Can Ann keep her part of the bargain and hand over who is investigating Will? Find out in the next chapter.**

**I'd like to hear from my readers whom they would like to have the perspective of at the funeral and reception.**


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

I shrug out of my black wool long coat as I enter this aforementioned funeral home promptly at 5p.m. I leave the cool light rain outside and am thankful that the walk up to the door was not long. I hand my coat to the young funeral home assistant along with my Italian leather gloves, and he promptly places the gloves in the pockets and hangs it in the nearby closet. I check over my personal appearance with a quick glide of my hands along my person, and I have a brief moment to view the homely foyer before I am ushered into the room dedicated to Miss Mary Rousseau.

After the few meetings with Agent Crawford before the funeral, I admit that this case intrigues me greatly. Now that the culprit is deceased, Will will be useful in my treatment of Holly's favored victim, Christine. I eagerly anticipate Will and Christine's interaction at the reception since she left him with a memorable impression.

I enter through the French doors and my senses are assaulted with the odorous press of many persons and floral arrangements within the confines of the room. With each breath and every step, I must endure: sweat, salty tear-stained faces, half forgotten crumpled tissues laying about, and the many perfumes and after shaves. All this wafting around fresh floral bouquets - too bright and cheerful for the occasion and wholly unnecessary as the body has already been cremated. Nearly half of a lifetime reduced to a sack full of useless carbon tied up in a tasteful eight-inch decorative floral urn.

I have never met identical twins together in person. Studying identical triplets are a stab in the dark as far as professional opportunities for me. I cannot alleviate my disappoint in that I will never meet them all; however, I am more disappointed that I am allowed to only engage one of them in conversation while Doctor Bloom assists the other. Both sisters offer unique challenges together as well as separately. Sometime tonight, I will offer my service to each of them. I know Doctor Bloom will also do the same, and she is a worthy opponent in her competitiveness. She has the feminine advantage over me, and she specializes in family trauma. I have Will as my wild card, though, and I believe I will at least win Christine over.

The mourners are now claiming their seats. It seems the family is either large, or they are very well known within the community. I recognize one elderly man of about 70 years sitting along the front row whom I am in acquaintance with at high-society gatherings and charitable events. His life partner sits next to him. I believe they once mentioned having nieces they planned bequeathing their extensive and much loved library to. What a small world it is, indeed, that they are relatives. I must reintroduce myself at some point tonight after the memorial. Further along the front row, I see the backs of the surviving Rousseau family, and I make my way over to the far right column of seats intended for friends of the family.

I quickly spot Agent Crawford and Doctor Bloom claiming their seats in the last row. They silently wave me over to an open place next to Alana. Will sits alone in a folding chair along the back wall just behind them. I smile at the effort he put into his attire tonight. Noticablly different from the everyday blazer he wears during his lectures; he dresses formally in a black suit, his folksy beard neatly trimmed, but not much could be said about the curls on his head that seems to have a mind of their own.

At times, I believe he would benefit from a proper shave and haircut, but he would lose the disarming lost look that charms those around him into believing him meek. It would be remiss of me to underestimate what he is capable of since I have a first hand account of the sleeping dog's bite. At the moment, however, he looks like a petulant child with his arms folding tightly across his torso. Those intelligent eyes burn into the unmistakable back of Fredricka Lounds' head as she sits a few rows ahead. The last employer of the Rousseau sisters, she is undoubtedly feeling responsible and wishing to convey whatever condolences and assistance that would endear her to the surviving ones.

"Family and Friends, I welcome you to this memorial service for Mary Rousseau." A middle-aged priest stands comfortably at the podium smiling warmly and acknowledging the entire room with his slow gaze. "I have known the Rousseau family for many years; though, Mary and her sisters were not active in the church in their adult life, they did dedicate themselves to their community as well as their profession. I believe we can all agree that Mary was an upstanding individual, fiercely loyal to those she deemed worthy, and, according to her family, had a stubborn streak a mile long." A murmur of chuckles briefly stops the soft sobs among the family and friends.

The sermon takes another five minutes before he introduces, to my pleasant surprise, Ann and Christine. He offers them the platform for their dedication and removes himself to the far left wall to stand and wait. A new outbreak of sobs and intent stares of the onlookers, I am sure, curious if the two will manage to make it through their dedication without an emotional breakdown.

Even in mourning, they manage to be stylishly chic in French twists and matching black dresses that remind me of a young Audrey Hepburn. A daringly low cut at the back puts a modern twist on the classic style. A look-but-don't-touch black sheer panel between the fabric keeps it from being indecent; however, I can just make out what appears to be a large pair of wings tattooed on the back of one starting near the shoulders and going down pass the ribs and on into the fabric. Still pale and thin, Christine regardless shows a quiet strength and inward grace. The wide neckline also shows off a long graceful neck on both, which briefly has me wondering what it would feel like to have my hands wrapped around them.

Christine sits at the piano, avoiding eye contact, and rests her fingers lightly on the keys. Ann stands at the podium collecting herself for the most important and emotional performance of her life. After but a moment, Christine starts the unmistakable notes of Schubert's 'Ave Maria' while Ann graces the now openly weeping crowd with a clear alto-soprano voice. Not once did they falter from one measure to the next, having practiced countless times I am sure - they were in perfect synchronization.

I take a moment to close my eyes and appreciate the emotional suffering that colors their performance. It is an offering I dine on enthusiasticly. The mourners soon drive me to exasperation, however, as they ruin the otherwise beautiful performance for me. Despite it all, by the end, my eyes glisten slightly. Perhaps, I can talk them into a repeat performance at the reception.

A heartfelt round of applause afterwards and the two sit down once more next to their family. The rest of the service is rather ordinary by comparison, but I do see that this Mary was well-loved. The feeling of disappointment fills me once more because I will never meet the three of them in person. To think that such a rare biological occurrence would end one of them in something as tasteless as a hanging - unforgivable. That Jeremiah Holly rightfully deserved what he got from Christine. Had it been me and not Christine, I would not have stopped at his neck. Then again, without him, I would not have been presented this opportunity.

The sound of ringing brings me back to the service. Everyone looks around as a cell phone continues near the front. The priest hovers around a floral arrangement of assorted white lilies where the origin of the ringing comes from. His tentative hand dips down and brings forth a small cheap phone. I hear Will's intake of breath as he stands and walks quickly to the front. Will holds out his right hand for the phone, and the priest hands it over. Confusion clearly marking his features. The ringing ends and the room is finally quiet.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Office of Rousseau, Private Investigation, Virginia

It's an all out downpour. The half dozen police cruisers throw the world around me into stark stuttering flashes of blue and red. The brief glimpses I have of the outside world of my car is between the swipes of the windshield wipers. These glimpses aren't reassuring me I want to leave the thin veil of security and familiarity I find in here.

Jack opens the door for Beverly Katz, and she and her team enters into the office building after shaking off their umbrellas. The officers that arrived on the scene first are busy taping off the perimeter as quickly as possible. Across the street an old church bell begins to toll seven o'clock and my thoughts temporarily scatter.

I tire of waiting. I feel like one of the K-9 dogs waiting for my handler to tell me it's okay to sniff around. It's been a depressing night, and I feel anxious. With every opening of the front door and every soggy footstep that enters and exits, I feel the killer seeping out into the night and washing away down the gutters.

I throw back two aspirins and a mouthful of water from a bottle I left in my car earlier this morning. I wait for the slow throb in my head to subside. I close my eyes for a minute, lay my head back, and take a few deep breaths. I wouldn't mind having Alana Bloom to keep me company, but she is in the other car with Doctor Lecter and the Rousseaus.

Jack can be rash in his attempt to leave no stone unturned to catch a killer. Normally, civilians are not allowed on crime scenes, but it's their property, and the case involves them. I imagine Alana is watching the Rousseaus like a hawk; Doctor Lecter is watching his colleague and the Rousseaus; and, Jack would be keeping an eye on everyone on his scene. As much as I like Alana, I'm glad I'm not a part of the feeding frenzy at the watering hole. At least not yet.

I'm the exception since I have a fancy consultant badge that lets me do my job alone, and I have a standing agreement to not be psychoanalyzed. My guess is that he is having the Rousseau's identify the body before it's packaged up in a bag and shipped off, and likely asking them to point out anything suspicious for the forensics team to consider.

I get a few flashes from Jack's flashlight from the door. I get the hint that I'm needed, so obviously something doesn't feel right in there. My wish to get started is finally granted, but I don't know if it will be a blessing or curse just yet. I zip up my jacket to my chin, pull on my wool hat, and jog briskly to Jack still in the doorway.

"I need you in here. I'm not going to say anything until you see it, though." Jack opens the door for me and steps aside to let me in, pocketing his small hand flashlight as he does.

"Well, that sounds ominous." I banter, steeling my nerves for what is waiting for me.

You know how it is. I just want you to go in with a clear head." He tells me that, but I can already smell the death in the air. The only clear thing in my head right now, is that whatever I'm going to see is not going to be clean.

"It's more of an organized mess up there than a clear head, Jack." Jack's right eyebrow rises in a silent but serious question. I force a slight smile. "Don't worry, there's no need to clean house just yet." Was that reassuring enough? I slip off my jacket and hat and hang it on the coat stand nearby. I worry if the wood hooks will hold up with all the additional items from Jack's team. "No sign of a break in?" I ask in an attempt to take the focus off me.

"The door was unlocked according to the police." Jack motions to the door. "The call was made anonymously to their emergency line from this location. The officer you spoke with on the cell phone was the first to arrive." He hands me two light blue plastic shoe covers from a small box near the entrance and a pair of latex gloves. I take them automatically and put them on.

"So, the police got the call, but they are giving the case to us. That's generous of them." He gives me a significant look with that comment. I follow Jack down the short hardwood floor hallway, pass a public restroom on the left, and on to the carpeted reception area.

"They realize that even though they got the call, the scene was meant for us. There was only one number in the cell phone found at the entrance to the office, and that was to the one we have in evidence right now from the funeral."

Original photography of nearby landscapes color the walls of the hall and the reception room. Despite the weather outside, the low wattage of the amber incandescent lights, and the mix of traditional class with modern twists in the interior decorations, gives the place a warm familiar feeling.

The only thing that seemed out of place was the reception desk facing the hallway. 'Impersonal' comes to mind, devoid of the familiarity the rest of the room had, but it had been used recently. A discarded space heater sits under the desk. The cord too short to reach the outlet behind the desk.

"According to Ann Rousseau, a temporary office manager was hired while she searched for her sisters. Afterwards, a temporary secretary came in to help her while Christine recovered. The desk was originally Christine's, but all her belongings were placed in the office." Jack follows my gaze and provides the running commentary for what I'm looking at.

A large desk calendar lay on top of the desk by a multi-line phone. Names and numbers, as well as brief messages are written-in neatly or exed out and found at a later date. All this during the time the Rousseau's were busy with the Holly case. A mostly empty coffee mug sits on a coaster near the wall. Smudges of lipstick line the lip of the mug causing a deep foreboding in my gut.

I stop there as Beverly opens the office door to the right of me and exits with her camera and tags, while Brian and Jimmy close the door behind them carrying their own kits. Each of them giving me a different look as they pass by. The sound of their footsteps alerts my attention, followed by the red trail that their covered feet leave behind. Blood oozes up out of the carpet in the main office with each of their steps.

"You know how it goes, Jack. I need to be alone right now." Jack leaves my side after giving me a heavy hand on the shoulder, for encouragement, I guess. I hear him move down the hallway, and I begin to focus on the carpet to the office. In a moment I am at the doorway and the heinousness of the crime is no longer a mystery.

An 8x10 room with sandstone colored walls and deep mahogany furniture greet my eyes first on approach. Now in the doorway, the most impressive sight is the macabre centerpiece. A corpse hanging from the ceiling fan by an orange electrical extension cord. The fan itself already threatens to dislodge itself fully from the ceiling. An empty body bag lays open and waiting by the door.

Walking around the body, staying close to the walls, the plastic shoe covers crinkle and stick to the carpet as the blood continues to dry slowly and become tacky beneath me. The body has been burned but not entirely. Immediate distinguishing features along with the areas concerning sex are in contrast to the rest of the body that was mostly untouched. A tagged red bucket sits beside the left of the two facing desks in the room.

The body is average in height but maybe a little shorter naturally, and a medium build in frame. Surprisingly the most disturbing feature is the nearly untouched shoulder length dark brown hair pulled back from burned-out eyes and the blackened mouth. The ponytail sits low on the nape where the knot of the electrical cord pushes it to one side. The back of the knees and her wrists have been deeply cut to the bone but not through.

That feeling of drowning washes over me, but it's not water, it's blood. It's thick and inevitable coming out of the carpet to choke me. Christine appears in front of me like a horrific pale apparition floating where the body should be. I take a few cleansing breaths and step back into the relative safety of the reception room after closing the door behind me; the soft click of the latch seems too loud in this room and echoes in my ears. I understand now why Jack wants me here. He is unsure if it's the Copy Cat Killer or the remnants of the Holly Cult out for revenge.

I close my eyes and begin the mental process of becoming the one who was capable and willing to do this. I stop mentally fighting so hard. I invite the killer to fold over me like a dark and stifling blanket. I let the background noise of the rain hitting the windows fade away, the soft spoken words of Jack and the forensics team dissipates like the wind. The evidence floats like dust in the light and I am holding on to the lifeline that was I. The blood seeps back behind the door, and a woman sits at her desk, waiting for the shift to end.

This killer is I, and he feels familiar. I turn towards the door and with each step towards it, I hear a cacophony of church bells. The reverberations of their tolling matches the quaking anticipation within me. I am outside, the weather is misty and gray. I am in my car, sitting and waiting for the perfect time.

It's an hour before closing. I see the church in my rearview mirror. Five o' clock mass will be starting soon. I adjust the zipper on my coat low enough to show the stiff white insert under the collar of my black button up shirt before stepping out into the cold. The bells begin to resound and I feel empowered as I walk straight to the front door and enter.

The woman looks at the time and gives me a friendly greeting. I come up with some excuse to get her away from her desk. Noticing my collar she falls for it. A mindless sheep. She passes me in the hallway, and I attack her from behind with a choke hold. I drag her back into the office as she struggles and wrestle her to the ground with me on top. She is smaller than I and cannot get any real leverage to throw me off.

When she finally passes out, I have no time to catch my breath. The adrenaline is hitting me, and it makes me feel alive as I run out to my car and grab a bag with my tools and a hand-held blow-torch. I turn the dead bolt into the lock of the front door on re-entry to keep any late clients out. Just before I enter back into the office, an orange electrical cord catches my eyes from under the reception desk. I unplug it and start about my work. Not to set off the fire alarms, a bucket of water from the bathroom serves to douse the skin after the touch of the torch.

The difficult part is getting the body hanged for display without wrenching the fan loose from the ceiling. This is a two person job, but I have just enough strength to hoist her up and get the loose loop around her neck. I pull my knife and cut the wrists and the back of the knees. The blood flow is slow, but that's okay. I let it puddle on the carpet as I go to the bathroom for supplies to wipe the area clean.

It's not perfect. I wasn't able to take my time, and the true objects of my obsessions are not here. This is merely a homage to Holly's memory. There is no devotion or conviction of faith here. There is just a cold knife, the smell of blood, and cooked flesh.

I place the cheap cellular phone in front of the door to the office and close it. If all is going to plan, the other one should have made it to its destination. I collect my things and make a quick call to the police before I leave the building. Mass is let out. I blend away with the rain and passing headlights.

This is my design.

I listen to the cold rain beating down on the window as I look out into the darkness from the reception room window. The church is lit up like some righteous fortress against evil; a beacon of good will in the darkness. For a moment, I believe it can save me. That what I am doing is right. But, I don't believe and neither does the killer, though he wants to believe in something. Are the Rousseau sisters the key?

The lights of the police cars begin to distract me from my thoughts. The door down the hall opens and I turn my head in time to see Alana entering while Jack holds the door for her. I see the dark sleek form of Doctor Lecter along with the Rousseaus already inside taking off their coats. I can hear Beverly Katz and the rest of her team in the bathroom. My reality comes back to me, and I turn away. Did they see me? If they did, I wonder what they saw? Jeremiah Holly?

Jack hurries inside looking damp but not cold from the short excursion outside. "Are you ready? Tell me what you know?"

"Why are they in here?" I say in a hushed voice.

"The Rousseaus are going to identify the body before it's taken away since they are already here, and I told them that they may take a few business and personal things if it doesn't hinder the case. The good doctors are here to make sure that you and these women don't have adverse reactions. I had doubts letting you in here due to the nature of the murder and your infiltration of the Holly compound, but I have an important question that needs answers. So, tell me what you know? Is this the Copy Cat Killer?"

"It's not the Copy Cat Killer, though the location would not be too far from his hunting ground, and the subject matter follows our most recent case." I'm cut short as the rest of the calvary arrives for the body and Katz's team comes back in to collect the evidence they tagged. Jack and I make our way back to the crowded office now that the doctors and Rousseaus have been pushed into the reception room. Doctor Lecter takes a few steps in our direction but remains at a comfortable and somewhat passive distance for me.

"This lacks the finesse and precision that I've seen from him. This crime was rushed. It's personal and vindictive. It's the Holly Cult or maybe someone close to Jeremiah Holly. Someone is hunting the Rousseaus down, and he wants them to know. He wants them to be afraid, and he wants us to think we can't stop him."

"Then he doesn't know us very well." Jack retorts. The body bag makes its way through the office door, heavy with its burden in Jimmy and Brian's hands. They stop in the middle of the reception room, and the women look pale. Beverly kneels down with her fingers secure on the zipper. The look of apology makes me believe this is the part of her job she dislikes the most.

"This may be hard to see. She doesn't look like how you remember her," Beverly quickly glances at Jack and me before turning back to the Rousseaus, "but I just need a confirmation that this was Mirjam Dekker - the woman you hired as your secretary. We will have the police inform any surviving family."

As Beverly starts to unzip, Ann bursts out, "Wait!" She holds onto Christine's shoulder and her eyes never move from the bag. "Christine, maybe you shouldn't see this. Go stand by your desk." Christine continues to stand there, only moving her head to look at her sister in the eyes. I can only guess what passes between them unsaid, but we all see the fear in Ann and the sheer determination to protect her last sibling from this savage crime.

Christine closes her eyes with a soft sigh, but stands her ground. Ann takes Christine by both shoulders and physically moves her away to the wall near her desk. "I'm serious. I'm not in the mood right now." With Christine facing the wall and staying put, Ann returns to Alana Bloom's side. "Okay!" She huffs and takes Alana's arm.

"The zipper is stuck. Just a moment." Beverly tries manipulating the zipper back up and down.

"Is it caught on something?" Jimmy kneels down and tries forcing it. "Maybe the teeth didn't align properly when Brian zipped it up?"

"I'm sorry, this doesn't usually happen." Beverly explains.

"Got it!" Jimmy smiles triumphantly. He moves the zipper back down enough to show the face to the expectant audience. It wasn't a surprise to me anymore so I don't need to look; even so, it's not the worst I've seen. Not like the charred bodies out in Oklahoma, and I can still think of a few more.

"Oh My God!" Ann exclaims as she turn away and covers her face. Alana puts her arm around her and starts trying to calm her down. She motions for Jimmy to cover the body again, which he does.

"Is it her?" Alana asks.

"Jesus Christ! I don't know. I don't want to look at her again. I think it is. I remember the hair. I didn't get to know her very well. She was subconscious of her bottom teeth being crooked so she didn't smile very big. She has cats. I just...whoever did this was a monster."

That last statement hits me harder in the gut than I thought it should. I cannot help feeling responsible. It was not too long ago that I reenacted the victim's murder as Ann's monster. Doctor Lecter steps forward as the forensics team moves on down the hall and out the door with Beverly and Jack following slowly behind. "Rest assured, Miss Rousseau, he will be caught and there will be justice."

Ann looks from him to me, and I try to look encouraging. Doctor Lecter to the rescue. Even if it is all just psychological bullshit to make Ann feel better, he seems to believe what he says. His confidence encourages my own. "I've helped Agent Crawford catch every killer I've been assigned to. The ones that allude us will only take a matter of time. We'll find him soon enough." Hannibal stands straighter, Alana nods in agreement, and a wash of relief fills Ann's features.

Jack walk back over. "What did I miss?"

It's now that I realize something is wrong. I look behind me. "Where is Christine?" A sudden panic overrides my thoughts because I think I know, and as if on cue, everyone looks toward the office door.

"Shit! How many eyes do I have in this room, and not one of you were keeping an eye on her?" Jack Crawford bulldozes passed Doctor Lecter to the office door, while we follow nervously behind. "Get out of here." He grabs her by the elbow and practically swings her to the door into my arms. "I don't want you near this building until this case is closed, and that involves you too." He points an accusing finger at Ann. "Everyone out! This building is off limits as of now. You are going to have to do without your work, Miss Rousseau, until further notice. Let's go, people!"

Ann snatches Christine away. "Are you crazy? What were you thinking?" She pulls Christine through us and towards the hall with an iron grip on her left elbow.

Jack shouts at us, "Bloom! Lecter! Do something with them! Graham! I'm disappointed in your lack of awareness."

"It's your crime scene, Jack. I'm here as a consultant. I don't have eyes in the back of my head."

"This is as much your crime scene as it is mine. If I can't leave for one minute and tust any of you without insident, then I don't need you all here. Go home!" He pulls out his phone, "Katz, get in here!" He slams the door behind him.

There are so many words I want to say. Things like: the crime scene has already been catalogued so it is not a big incident; don't blame me for your own lack of judgement; or, at least I have someone waiting for me at home. The last one makes me feel worse because it's a low blow and childish. Instead, I keep silent. There is no use in poking Jack when he's like this.

"Her hands!" Alana calls out suddenly in the hall. Ann's eyes widen in horror as she notices Christine's hands covered in tacky blood. My own shirt smudged from when I caught her. Her left hand opens and closes into fists as if fascinated by the sensation, while the tips of her three right fingers have disappeared in her mouth. Doctor Lecter was the first to react. In a quick movement, he pulls out a silk handkerchief and wipes down her hands as he pulls her along with him out the door - heedless of the dying rain and plunges her hands into the runoff from the roof.

I hadn't noticed the metallic taste in my mouth until just now. I swallow convulsively against an imaginary lump in my throat, and I try not to think. Alana rushes for coats while Ann stands in silence, her hands pressing to her face.

"She never. In the hospital, she didn't. Why?" Ann is at a loss. I zip up my jacket and place my hat. I help her into her coat and Alana opens the door and hands Doctor Lecter his coat as well as Christine's.

"It's not unusual for symptoms of trauma to show up after the fact." Ann looks at me, searching for answers and reassurance.

"I thought I could help her. That all she needed was to be close to me and for me to protect her." It sounds like an apology. Her gaze goes from me to Alana as she comes back in.

"It's not your fault, Ann." Alana intercedes. "You did what you thought was right. You can still protect her, and it's okay to ask for help. Right Will?" Alana gives me a thorough look as we head out the door. I get the hint.

"Right."

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**A/N: Sorry it took so long to get this chapter up. I've been a very busy bee. As a result, this chapter is longer than usual, so I hope you enjoy. Let me know what you think.**


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